


Stars At War

by Jathis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Oral Sex, Slavery, Torture, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 11,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jathis/pseuds/Jathis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of stories with my Siths Rochus and Roza, my Bounty Hunter Macklin, and my Jedi Alfons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Know Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> The characters Jan, Alice, Mike, Abel, Annette, and Tabitha belong to my friend Hana-Bakemono
> 
> Nimven and Merou belong to my friend Martym
> 
> Drake and Ulrich belong to my friend 1veryskepticalgecko

He smiled as he watched the green figure dancing a few feet away from him. The Twi'lek was bare-breasted, dressed in a swirling golden wrap tied around her wide hips. Her bare feet moved soundlessly across the smooth hard floor, body and tentacles swaying in a sensual dance, the bells tied around her wrists and ankles ringing out softly with every placement of an arm and a leg.

The Zabrak leaned back in his chair, licking his lips. His skin was a natural crimson color, his face decorated in thin black lines and markings all over. Loose black hair hung between his sharp horns, refusing to shave his head. Yellow eyes ringed with red watched the slave’s dance, twinkling with wickedness as he raised up an empty wine glass. “Wine!” he called out.

A grim faced male Twi'lek had been standing off to the side with a bottle of yellow wine. His skin was a smooth light blue color, contrasting the female’s own dark green skin. He was dressed in a similar golden wrap, chest bare for their Master.

Wordlessly he approached the Zabrak, bowing his head as he filled his glass. His hands held onto the bottle tightly, wishing for the chance to smash it in the smiling Zabrak’s face.

“Your wife is a beautiful dancer,” Rochus purred. He looked up at the Twi'lek, smirking as he bowed his head further in submission. “Do you wish to dance with her, slave?”

“Whatever my…Master wishes,” he muttered, unable to hide the disgust in his voice. He flinched when Rochus suddenly raised a hand, lightning crackling along the palm and between the tips of his fingers.

The Sith was dangerous when he was angry. “Do you wish for a lesson, slave?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, white teeth standing out against his tattooed lips as he smiled. He noted from the corner of his eye that the female had stopped dancing and his smile grew. “Perhaps your wife should kneel between my legs…”

Abel said nothing, keeping his mouth shut firmly, knowing that to say anything else would invite their Master’s wrath to come down on them both. He watched helplessly as Rochus gestured Annette over to him with a finger, his hands trembling as she timidly approached the seated Sith, kneeling between his spread legs, parting his robes to expose himself to her.

“I don’t think you fully understand how much power I have over you, slave. I could kill you with a flick of my wrist if I so wished…or make it last for years,” he said, sounding bored as he rested a hand on top of Annette’s head, stroking her tentacles with the palm as her head started to bob up and down, pleasuring him.

“Maybe one day I will catch you unawares…” Abel whispered, watching helplessly as his wife serviced their Master. He clenched a hand into a trembling fist, wishing to attack, wishing that he could do _something_.

“I welcome you to try it, slave. Truly…it will be a good lesson for my acolyte when she is grown up and ready to learn,” he chuckled, tilting his head back, looking at him lazily from the corner of his eye. “Your daughter will be Sith and will learn how true strength is all about power and dominion over others!”

Annette whimpered softly between Rochus’ thighs and Abel bowed his head, his hand loosening up. The Sith had sensed potential in their newborn and after a blood test proved his suspicions he had purchased all three of them, planning on training her as his own when she was old enough. “One day I will kill you and my daughter will go to the Jedi,” he whispered.

Rochus let his eyes flutter closed, taking a long drink from his glass, smacking his lips with a laugh as he rolled his hips forward, urging Annette on. The Twi'lek’s head moved at a steady pace, soft moans heard from her. “You may try as much as you like, slave. You will always fail.”

He opened his eyes then, his previous mirth gone, replaced by a seriousness Abel only saw when he was interrogating a Jedi. “And when you fail…you will be educated on your place in this world; every time.”


	2. Slave

He bristles at how easily it oozes out of their mouths, slipping off of their tongues and hissing from their lips like venom. They use the word too quickly, ignoring his rank and position as they remind him over and over again where he came from, what he was _before_ the trials. They shout it across rooms and arenas and hallways, telling everyone around just what he was before.

Slave.

He grits his teeth and endures the sting the word brings him when used against him. He swallows down his insults for those of higher ranks and hisses them at those of equal rank who are too valuable alive to kill. Lesser ranks do not bother saying it although in his head he can hear them whispering it among each other, wondering why the slave wore the robes of an Inquisitor and controlled the lightning and rage of a Sith.

His methods of interrogation get deadlier with every time he is called a slave instead of his name or ‘Sith’. He tortures his victims long after they have told him everything that they know, fire and lightning making their skin blister and burn, blood boiling in their veins as they eyes rupture from the sockets. He forces his slaves to carry the bodies outside, impaling them on spikes to serve as a quiet reminder of his rank and to serve as a warning.

Rochus loves it when another Sith is denounced as a traitor to the cause. Sometimes he himself plants false information on them, painting them as conspirators or even Jedi-sympathizers. The Empire was paranoid of the Republic and the Jedi enough to believe that just about anyone could be a traitor to the cause. He makes sure that he is the one to interrogate them for any “further information” and he makes sure that they live for months before finally killing them.

Still he is called slave by the others.

He’s caught himself on occasion, nearly surprising himself with the way the lightning crackles and sparks on his fingertips, ready and willing to paint the walls and floors with fresh blood. It pains him when he is forced to hold it in, to try and control his rage and focus on something else.

His slaves have started to hide from him when he returns home, trembling in fear as they cower behind closed doors and overturned tables. He had nearly killed the male Twi'lek several times when he could not control himself and now the two tried to serve him as far away as possible, cooking his meals in advance and setting the table before he returned, avoiding being seen.

The only one who remained unafraid was Nimven. The Human woman was not Sith but with her soft words and clever tongue, she was able to move about freely in Sith-controlled cities and planets without any trouble, flaunting her relationship with the Zabrak Inquisitor. She watched as her lover tortured and murdered in his interrogation room and chose to ignore it, insisting on speaking to him about his hair or his horns or the way his tattoos make her think of an animal called a 'kitty’.

Rochus listened to her and on several occasions her words calmed him and he would sit down, allowing his tense body to relax for once, allowing her hands to rest on his shoulders, expert fingers kneading the flesh there, avoiding the decorated brand between his shoulder blades where the breeding pen he came from left its mark.

Slave.

He wishes he could kill everyone who called him that but knows that if he did there would only be three beings left alive in the Empire; Nimven and the two Twi'leks.


	3. Who Can Be Sith

“Slaves could never become Sith! It’s unheard of and impossible! Just look at them down there! Milling around like sheep. They wanted freedom and now that they have it they have no idea what to do with it! They’re probably shitting themselves because they have no one to order them not to!”

Rochus wanted to press the palms of his hands against the ensign’s stomach and allow lightning to slowly build up in his arms. He wanted to wait until the last possible moment and then fire the lightning straight into the Human’s body, cooking him from the inside out. He wanted to guide the lightning up into his throat and burn it until it was black before allowing the lightning to cook his eyes and make them burst like overripe fruit.

Khem could sense his Master’s growing anger and he grunted, “Master doesn’t need to spill the blood of worms. Besides…he’s right about slaves. They are unworthy of the title of Sith. It soils the legacy.”

“I do not _care_ about _your_ opinion, monster!” Rochus snarled, shooting the ancient creature a hateful glare that brought ensign Corian Shye back to reality, realizing all too late that he should have been more careful with his words regarding the rebellious slaves and the ones apparently on their side.

“My Lord…”

“Slaves _can_ be Sith!” Rochus hissed through gritted teeth. “Do not _dare_ to ever forget _that_!”

“I…no, of course. I’m sure there are…uh…well… What I meant was that…” the Zabrak stormed away before he could go any further and he let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head at the other’s anger. He waited until the Sith had crossed the bridge before allowing a scowl to cross his face.

An uppity slave playing at being Sith? What were those religious zealots up to?

“You should have let me eat him,” Khem grumbled.

“He would have given you the runs for weeks,” Rochus sighed.


	4. Sith's Worries

“I was bred and trained to be perfect, long before it was discovered that I could control the Force.” Rochus’ words made Nimven look up from her idle typing, tilting her head to one side as she listened to the Zabrak, noting the way he sat in his chair, one leg thrown over the arm as he leaned back, holding an empty wine glass against his temple, eyes closed. Red-rimmed yellow eyes opened to look at her then, narrow nostrils flaring faintly before he spoke again, “were you aware of this?”

Nimven had seen the brand between Rochus’ shoulder blades the first time the Sith had removed his robes for her. She knew the brand’s meaning instantly and instantly understood why he was so well spoken and elegant in his movements at times, musing about how many years and beatings it must have taken for him as a child to learn how to be the perfect house decoration.

“I had no idea,” she lied easily, a small smile touching her lips as she shrugged her shoulders, turning back to her typing, making it look like she did not care at all about the topic.

Rochus perked up at this, adjusting his position in the chair to sit properly in it now, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his legs. “Truly?” he asked.

She smiled charmingly, nodding her head, “I had no idea until you brought it up yourself, my love. I never understood why the others called you slave before…I thought it was out of jealousy.”

The Sith smiled at her words, white teeth standing out against black tattooed lips. He stood up and approached her, cooing as he bent down to kiss her on the temple. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Besides…house slaves can’t torture the way you can, my love.”

He let out a bark of laughter at that, throwing his head back in sheer delight, resting his hands on his hips as he considered her words with a smug smile. “They’re bringing me a Padawan tonight; a Miraluka.”

“Will I get to add their veil to my collection?” she asked.

Rochus made a show of bowing to her, chuckling as he said, “I live to serve, milady.”


	5. Nimven's Collection

A coy smile touched her lips as she watched the way her Zabrak lover swaggered into the room, teeth showing as he smiled openly at her and the two slaves serving her. The female Twi'lek immediately moved to hide behind Nimven’s chair as Rochus approached, her husband forced to stay standing beside the Human as she played with his lekku, stroking and toying with the two tentacles absently as she looked up at Rochus with a raised eyebrow.

“You look proud of yourself,” she noted.

“Is that how you greet me after I’ve been gone for a month?” Rochus countered, folding his arms into the long sleeves of his robes.

“I merely state the obvious, kitty.” She finally let go of the male’s lekku, waving him away to stand beside his wife behind her chair as she stood up, resting her hands on Rochus’ cheeks, kissing him on the lips in greeting. “Is this better?” she teased.

He smiled and nodded his head, kissing her again, “I suppose it is satisfactory…”

“I take it your mission was a success then?” she asked.

“Sith business is business only to be shared between Sith,” he reminded her.

Nimven pouted at that, “I just want to know! You don’t think I would tell any Jedi or Republic soldiers do you?” she demanded.

“I didn’t say I didn’t trust you,” he corrected, eyes flicking up to look at the two slaves briefly before looking back at her. “You keep them on tight leashes when I am away, yes?”

“I am not a complete fool,” she sniffed. “They know their place well enough…and know just how much a baby goes for nowadays,” she added, lips curling into a wicked smile.

Rochus chuckled at the threat that hung in the air, looking up again to lock eyes with the trembling green-skinned female. “Has dinner been cooked yet?”

“…No, Master.”

“Then why are you both standing there?”

“Oh do let the blue one stay!” Nimven protested, “I like looking at him. He has a nice color to him…” She rolled her eyes when Rochus threatened the pair with an upraised fist crackling with energy, watching as the Twi'leks left them alone to go and prepare a meal for them. “And what was that about?” she demanded.

She blinked in surprise when a shimmering piece of material was held over her eyes. She gasped in delight, cooing as she took the veil from Rochus, holding it up to the light, watching as the veil’s colors changed with every movement of her hands and placement of the light above. “Oh!”

“I slew a Sage while on my mission,” he explained. “I knew you would like their veil!”

Nimven smiled, kissing him on the lips, hugging the veil close to her chest. “I shall hang it up with the others!” she assured him, smiling as she looked over the veil once more. “Miraluka have such lovely veils! It’s a pity they’re so stingy with them!” she added with a pout.

Rochus chuckled, hugging her around her middle, resting his chin on top of her head. “It just means I have to keep killing more to add to your collection, hm?” Nimven nodded her head and Rochus’ smile grew, anticipating the next time he encountered a Miraluka.


	6. Attuned and Redeemed

“For his part in this Toybox will be locked in the stockade for a few days, and given lashes. You on the other hand.”

“No.”

Fixer 66 paused for a moment, his frown deepening at the sudden interruption. “Well…you’re right in that I cannot punish you but…”

“No, he’s not going in the stockade or receiving lashes,” Rochus corrected, painted lips tight and furious, hidden under the black tattoos that made it appear as if he were smiling. His eyes widened ever so slightly, one hand going down to the hilt of his lightsaber, maintaining eye contact with the Imperial officer all the while.

Khem Val could sense the rage building inside of his Master and he frowned a little himself, confused as to why his Master was so angry with the other. He had only spoken to the little Balmorran once and it was barely a conservation as it was Toybox making his plea and Rochus reluctantly agreeing to use the tampered grenades instead of the com devices. It was nothing.

So why was his Master getting so angry?

“If you punish Toybox; I’ll personally ensure that you die as slowly and painfully as possible as a result. The Balmorran is under _my_ protection and things under my protection _stay_ safe,” Rochus hissed.

Fixer 66 raised up his hands in defense, shaking his head. He wasn’t paid nearly enough to deal with a Sith making threats against his life. He had served long enough in the Empire to understand the way things worked, even if it left a foul taste in the back of his throat. “Fine! It’s no skin off my nose…” he muttered. “Although I stand firm on never working with you again…Lord.”

“I don’t rightfully care,” Rochus sneered, turning his back on him with a huff. “Come on, Khem Val. Let’s go and find you something to eat…” he muttered.

Khem Val followed dutifully enough, walking beside the young Sith out of the camp. “Young Master acts stranger as days pass.”

“How so?”

“You were ready to kill for Balmorran boy?”

“That’s my business.”

“You killed Sakoal’s wife for sleeping with someone she did not know was a spy.”

“So?”

“Then you told Sakoal’s rival about it.”

“That was fun,” Rochus snickered.

“On Dromund Kaas you helped those insane slaves try to become Sith.”

“Slaves can be Sith…”

“But then you helped poison the slaves’ water supply so that they suffered for weeks before dying.”

“That’s what happens when you rebel against the Empire.” Khem Val was silent then and Rochus frowned, not liking the long period of silence from the creature. “What is it?”

“You are…hard to understand at times, little Sith. You revel in cruelty and suffering but then step in when others are the ones committing it to someone you take a passing like to.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s my business and mine alone.”

Khem Val sighed but said nothing else, simply following as his Master charged at some rebels in hiding, laughing as his lightsaber cut through their bodies.


	7. Future Plans

Nimven peered down into the small crib, sniffing to herself as she looked over the small Twi'lek baby lying inside. She was asleep at the moment, a soft blanket over her small body, a stuffed Bantha doll held loosely in one hand. Reaching down, Nimven made as if to touch one of her tentacles until the door was suddenly opened and Rochus stepped into the room, smiling at her knowingly as he walked up to stand beside her.

“Admiring my apprentice?” he teased, gently bumping into her side to tease her.

Nimven snorted, waving away Rochus’ words with a hand as she said,“he has a pretty color to her. A mixture of her parents’ green and blue that works well together. She would make a lovely decoration for our home when she got older.”

“Aye, perhaps but she is to be my apprentice when she is old enough. She is strong in the Force and I will control that strength myself. I have no time to worry about her falling into the wrong hands and becoming something useless like a Jedi.”

Nimven pouted a little, looking over the baby again before turning to speak again, “I still think I should be allowed to use her as decoration sometimes! She _does_ come from slave stock and it would be a waste not to show her off to our guests and the like! She can be a status symbol! Your little apprentice but pretty and nice to look at.”

“Are you trying to say that Sith are not nice to look at?”

She smiled coyly, resting a hand on his cheek before saying, “I did not say anything. You did, my love.”

“You may use her as decoration…when she is not working for me directly,” Rochus offered. “How does this sound? Fair?”

“I suppose…” Nimven sighed, looking down at the little Twi'lek. “Where are her parents?”

“Cooking,” he said.

“I like when the female cooks. The male just burns everything!” she huffed.

“I am sure it is the female who is doing the cooking,” he promised.

She smiled and nodded, allowing Rochus to pull her into his arms in a tight hug, resting his chin on top of her head. “You plan on rising all the way to the top, don’t you?”

“Always.”

“…And I’ll be beside you while you do it.”

He pressed his lips to her temple in a soft kiss before nodding his head. “Always and forever.”

Nimven smiled, nuzzling him with a purr, already imagining what life would be like once Rochus killed his way into the Dark Council, granting him lots of power and influence within Empire controlled places. Her body trembled in excitement, already plotting on sending her brother a holocommunication to brag about it all.


	8. New Pet

Rochus idly let his black claws play over the handles of the knives resting on the table, pursing his lips in quiet thought. “Now…I don’t really care if you tell me what I want to know,” he said, looking up briefly at the Republic captain he had been handed over for interrogation. He flashed the woman a toothy smile, winking before picking up one of the serrated blades, twirling it between his fingers. “Because either way you will and either way I will still make you scream before it’s…”

A sudden sharp flash seemingly behind his eyes made him jerk up straight, dropping the blade to the ground with a clatter. Reaching up, he hissed as he pressed the heel of his hand against his temple, shuddering in pain. When the sensation had subsided he lowered his hand and snarled as he stormed out of the room.

“Nimven? Nimven!”

“What is the matter now?” She gasped in surprise when Rochus suddenly took a hold of her wrist, pulling her along. “Kitty!”

“There is a Jedi near here…”

“A Jedi? Here?”

Rochus growled to himself, leading Nimven to the bedroom where his slaves’ baby was kept. “Stay in here. Sound the alarm if anyone but me tries to enter here. Activate their shock colors in the slaves try anything! Understand?”

“What do you think the fool is coming here for?” she asked, frowning as she looked around briefly, almost expecting the Jedi to suddenly appear out of thin air. “He can’t be after that low class prisoner of yours…”

“He’s after my future apprentice,” Rochus huffed, “but if he thinks he can steal her from me…he is sorely mistaken!”

A wicked smile played over Nimven’s lips as he said this and she remarked, “I hope he’s a Miraluka…I could always use a new veil for my collection…”

“And you will have it,” Rochus promised with a firm nod before storming out of the room, shutting the door behind him. “Filthy Jedi…you want to come here and steal what is mine? Let me make it easy for you…”

* * *

He had only been sent there to try and aid some of the rebels but the sensation of a Force sensitive child in the area forced him to take action. The dark-skinned Miraluka named Alfons had earned the title of Jedi Sage, trying his best to aid and heal those he could during his missions. He was still however considered still green by Jedi standards and was understandably given missions that would test and strengthen his abilities with the Force.

He had been immediately alarmed when he felt the neutral aligned Force, knowing immediately that it was a child. The fact that he could feel neutral Force coming from where the Sith Inquisitor Rochus resided spurred Alfons into action, knowing that he could not miss this chance to help the child. The Zabrak was known for his excessive and cruel methods and he feared for the safety of the child, knowing that the child would be better off with the Council than a Sith.

It was easy to get close to the place. The Zabrak did not seem to hire many security protocols on the external perimeter of his home. Getting inside however would most likely be where he would have some difficulties. Just because there were no security devices outside did not mean there would be none inside.

He drew his lightsaber at the sound of a door opening, frowning as a green-skinned Twi'lek peeked out at him. He was prepared to run when she suddenly held out a hand out to him, palm facing out, trying to assure him that she meant no harm. “…You are a slave here?” he asked, keeping his voice low and steady.

“You’re here for my daughter,” she whispered.

“I am.”

“Master is busy dealing with a prisoner. He has not yet noticed you’re here. You can…”

“How do you know he has not sensed me?”

“Because if he did he would have stormed out by now to find you.”

Alfons considered her words but nodding, “I will be swift.”

“Please take her out of here…make her a Jedi,” the Twi'lek pleaded, leading Alfons inside. She was wringing her hands nervously as he stepped inside, her lekku twitching nervously as she looked around. “You must hurry before he comes. My daughter is being held in the room on the left down the right hallway outside of this lounge area! Please!”

The Miraluka nodded his head grimly, holding the handle of his weapon tightly as he followed her directions, headed straight for the closed door where the baby was. The door however was locked and before he could do anything further the wall behind him burst inward, striking him with debris. The sudden explosion caught him completely off-guard and he was unable to protect himself when Rochus fired lightning from his hands, sending it coursing through Alfons’ body.

“Filthy little Jedi! Couldn’t even figure out where I was?! Weak and pathetic!” Rochus roared, bringing the Miraluka to his knees before finally releasing him, lashing out with the heel of his hand to use the Force to slam him down onto his face on the ground, causing his nose to blood.

Alfons coughed up blood, wheezing as he tried to push himself up with his hands. Rochus’ boot on the small of his back stopped him and he winced, gritting his teeth as he was forced to lie still once more, his body aching and his mind too scattered to properly do anything. “Nngh…”

“Is it safe now?” Nimven asked, opening the door. She gasped when she saw Alfons, clapping her hands in joy. “Oh! I don’t have a veil like that yet!”

Rochus chuckled, bending down to remove the veil from Alfons’ face, handing it over to Nimven with a bow as he said, “I always keep my promises.”

“Oh Kitty! It’s wonderful!” she cooed, holding the veil in delight. “Now…what about him? I don’t want you keeping him for so long like the last one! I barely got any sleep from all of the screaming she did!”

Rochus waved away her concern, grinding the heel of his boot into Alfons’ back, making him yelp in pain. “Now now…what if I keep him alive but don’t torture him AS much?” he offered. “We can put a shock collar on him and set it up that it activates whenever he tries to use his little light tricks,” he explained.

Nimven considered this option, pursing her lips as she looked down at Alfons, admiring the dredlocks he kept in a tight ponytail. “…I suppose not a lot of people have Jedi slaves…” she mused.

Rochus flashed her a toothy smile as he said, “precisely!”

Finally she nodded her head, giggling a little to herself. “Very well, kitty! You may keep your little pet! Just make sure he behaves, hm?”

“Of course,” Rochus said, kicking Alfons sharply in his side, ignoring the cry of pain this caused. Bending down, he roughly picked Alfons up, throwing him over his shoulder. “What do you take me for? A weakling?” he laughed, suddenly sending a short wave of lightning through the Jedi’s body, ensuring that he would not try to fight as he carried him away.

The two Twi'leks were standing nearby and he paused as he was about to pass them, looking at Annette with a sniff. “…You did well tricking him, slave,” he said.

Shamefully she bowed her head, offering a weak nod as he walked away, tears falling down her cheeks as her husband held her close.


	9. Dancing and Spying

Abel frowned when he saw his wife peeking into their Master’s lounge. He walked up to her, resting a hand on her arm. “What are you doing?” he hissed, “if Master caught you…”

“Master has a guest over.”

“So?”

“Look!”

Abel frowned but did as he was asked, peering into the small peephole carved into the wall. He saw their Master Rochus lounging in a chair, speaking to another. The other was an Alien; a slender Togruta with dark grey skin instead of the usual red with the blue and white stripes on his horns and lekku.

“I want you to teach him how to dance,” Rochus said, idly swirling his glass of wine in the light to watch it move. “He’s of no use to me if he can’t at least entertain me without being tortured, Ulrich. Even I grow bored of torture at times.”

“You want me to teach a Miraluka how to dance?” Ulrich asked, cocking an eyebrow at the Zabrak.

“Aye.”

“You think he’ll be able to retain it? It’s hard sometimes to get good dancing slaves,” he explained.

“You’re the best dancer and hired gun in Imperial space,” Rochus countered, “I know you can do it.”

Ulrich smiled and nodded his head as he set his glass down and stood up. He smoothed down his clothes and adjusted his lekku. “Let me see him at least.”

The Twi'lek couple immediately fled as the door was opened, hiding themselves in another room as Ulrich and Rochus walked past them and to the room where the Jedi slave was kept, letting out a sigh of relief at not being caught spying on their Master this time.

The former Jedi called Alfons was sitting quietly in a bare room that served as his cell, shackles on his wrists and ankles ensuring that he would not make an attempt to leave. Unauthorized movement would make the manacles activate, sending painful volts of electricity into his body. He lifted his head at the sound of the door opening, his eyeless face directed forward.

“Stand,” Rochus commanded. “What do you think, Ulrich? You think he could be a dancer?”

Ulrich frowned to himself as he approached the Miraluka, reaching up to take a hold of his chin. He turned his head one way then the other, idly tugging on one of his dreadlocks to get a feel for it before letting go, nodding to Rochus. “He’s got the look and body of a dancer at least,” he offered. “We’ll see after a few lessons.”

The Zabrak smiled at this news, nodding his head. “I trust you to get the job done,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me…I need to deal with two Twi'lek who think they can spy on me and escape my notice.”

“Don’t be too hard on them. I _do_ have odd coloring.”


	10. Good Hunting

“One lonely little Mandolorian…” Drake smiled, baring his sharp fangs as he watched their masked target walking through the brush, unaware of their presence up in the trees. The Cathar looked over at his companion Macklin, nodding his head. “It would be a shame to miss this chance,” he said.

“Aye, it would,” Macklin agreed.

“So..?”

Macklin leapt from the tree they were both in to land onto another, waiting a moment to get his bearings before making his next move. He leaned forward, slitted green eyes focused on the Mandolorian down below. His legs tensed and in a flash he leapt forward, landing in a crouch in front of the helmeted prey. “Hoy! Nice day for a hunt, aye?”

He watched as the Mandolorian stumbled back, reaching for his blaster. “Oh but I’m sorry…there’s no oceans around here to drive me into this time! Or do you want me to help you look for one?” He braced himself and leapt to the side when he was fired upon, cackling as he started to run, dodging blaster fire as he went.

“Try to aim at my back a little straighter, helmet head!” he shouted over his shoulder. He snorted with laughter when he was met with more shouts and insults, shaking his head as he made a sharp turn around a large tree, making the target trip up before staggering after him.

“Come on…come on!”

The Mandolorian was so focused on Macklin that he didn’t realize that there was another Cathar still up in the trees. Drake dropped down on him in an instant, breaking his spine and smashing his shoulders as he landed on him, putting all of his weight onto him. A moment later Drake snapped his neck, snorting as he ripped the helmet off of his head.

“The young ones are getting dumber,” he huffed as Macklin jogged back over to him.

“Aye, but their bodies make nice bait to try and catch the older ones,” Macklin offered.

Drake shook his head and shrugged, “not this time.”

“Aw, why not?”

“Ulrich don’ like it when I stay out late to kill ‘em no more.”

“Aw, you worry too much!” Macklin huffed, pouting at the other as he punched him in the arm, snatching the helmet from him. “This is mine then!”

“Hoy! I didn’t say I couldn’t collect trophies!” Drake protested, snatching it back.

“You got to keep the helmet last time!”

“Well I’m the one doin’ the actual killin’! Yer just the distraction!”

Macklin huffed but didn’t argue any further. “Fine…then yer buying the drinks when we get back to town,” he said.

“Deal.”


	11. Credits and Choking

Macklin sighed when the blue-skinned Twi'lek opened the door, immediately flinching when he saw the Cathar and his recent capture behind him. Macklin had been forced to freeze the smuggler Rochus had paid for him to catch and he huffed as he pushed the cart through the open doorway, brushing past Abel. “So where is the red skin today? Same place as every day?” he asked.

“The Master is giving his Acolyte lessons today,” Abel answered.

He snorted and stopped pushing the cart, gesturing to the frozen form resting inside, “you can take this down to his little torture room. The smell of blood is too heavy there and makes me want to gag,” he said. “I’ll just go and introduce myself, aye?”

“…Master hates the way you shout when you come in.”

“Well yer Master hasn’t stopped paying me so I can’t honestly say that I care what he likes and dislikes,” Macklin countered. He shot the slave a toothy smile before walking down the hall, leaving Abel to deal with the bounty instead.

Macklin’s pointed ears perked up when he caught the sound of Rochus’ barking voice and he huffed himself as he headed for the source, idly yawning as he slipped his hands into his pockets, wondering what the Sith Lord was angry about now.

“Focus on cutting off his air!”

“I’m trying!”

“Imagine that your real hand is around his throat and focus on squeezing it! You want to snuff out his life. You want him dead! He is the enemy. Jedi must die and be dealt with without mercy!”

“I’m trying!”

“Focus all of your hate on him! Cut off his air!”

Macklin entered Rochus’ training room just in time to see the Zabrak’s Acolyte; a Human girl named Alice, start to use the Force to cut off Alfons’ air supply. The Jedi slave was forced to stand in the center of the room, hands bound behind his back as he stood there, forced to be used as a test dummy for Alice.

The Cathar growled softly in worry, watching as the Miraluka gagged, tilting his head back in a vain attempt to escape from Alice’s power. “Hey!” he finally barked, breaking the girls’ concentration and allowing Alfons to breathe once again, gasping loudly as he shuddered and fell to his knees.

Rochus growled at the interruption, glaring daggers at the Bounty Hunter as he demanded, “what do you want?!”

Macklin huffed and shrugged his shoulders, “I brought yer target.” He smirked at the way the Sith calmed down at this, a smile touching his lips as he nodded and approached him.

“Alive?”

“Always.”

Rochus smiled, idly rubbing his hands together. He seemed to remember something and turned to look over his shoulder at Alice, “I want you to make sure you practice your meditation while I am busy,” he commanded.

“Yes, Master.”

“He gonna be okay?” Macklin asked, gesturing to Alfons as Rochus walked past him.

“Yes, yes! I never let the girl murder him. A dead slave is just meat left to rot,” he huffed, waving away Macklin’s concern. “Come with me for your money, Hunter!”

Macklin hesitated to follow the Sith, looking back to check on the condition of the Miraluka. He watched with a small smile as Rochus’ Acolyte comforted the slave, rubbing the sides of his neck in apology as they whispered to each other. When he was sure that the girl would cause the slave no more harm; Macklin went to get his money.


	12. Galas and Dresses

He was sure that everyone at the gala could hear him grinding his teeth. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to care about that or not; members of the Dark Council were supposed to be something to look up to, right? He watched a bunch of Human Sith Lords discussing how removing the Aliens from the Order would be best for the bloodlines and future of the Sith. He could feel his temper starting to grow just by listening and he knew that he didn’t care about any of these people and that he could slaughter at least half without even a scolding for it.

Rats and scavengers… Always prodding and poking and stabbing and clawing their way to the top of the trash heap. They never lasted long before the next in line stabbed them in the liver anyway really. It was almost fun to watch.

Almost.

He shot a look over at his wife, pouting when he saw how much she was enjoying this whole affair. Idly he reached out and used the Force to take a tray out of a slave’s hands, placing it and its contents of drinks onto his table. He did the same with a tray of small snacks, daring anyone to say something to him about it as he started to eat, keeping an eye on his wife.

It had been Nimven’s idea to go to the gala in the first place. The woman loved mingling with those in power, quietly slipping herself into conversations and placing her name and status as his wife into people’s heads. She wanted to be important and rise above everyone else and Rochus had to admit that she was very good for someone who wasn’t even Sith.

“Kitty!” Nimven was pouting as she stormed over to Rochus, shaking his arm to get his attention.

“Yes?” he asked, trying not to sound bored.

“That woman’s slave has bigger breasts than me!”

“…Slaves are bred to be like that according to taste.”

“Yes, but she’s also wearing a prettier dress than me, kitty! A _slave_ is better dressed than me; the wife of a member of the Dark Council! It’s absolutely _obscene_ , kitty! Imagine just what they’ll say the next day about me and my new dress!”

“You want me to fix it for you, my love?”

Nimven nodded firmly, pointing out the Mirialan slave in an instant, “yes! I want you to do it right away, kitty!”

Rochus tried not to look too excited as he got up, his hands already crackling with dark energy as he walked over to the green-skinned slave, oblivious to what was about to happen. Wordlessly he grabbed the slave by the back of their head and he immediately sent lightning through it, boiling her brain inside of her skull at a controlled and slow rate; he wanted to savor this after all. His eyes flashed darkly as he started to smile to himself, enjoying the sight of her convulsive limbs and garbled speech.

He needed to do something like this more often. It was certainly helping him with all of the stress this gala had given him. Perhaps Nimven wouldn’t mind him buying a few cheap labor slaves with the express purpose of doing this to them. It would certainly help to avoid him causing any serious injuries to his favorite slaves at any rate.

He pouted when the slave’s movement and sounds finally stopped, sniffing as he let the body drop to the ground with a wet thud. That was the one problem with slaves these days; they weren’t bred to be as sturdy as he had been when he wore the collar. Useless sacks of flesh and blood…

No one at the gala said anything about the sudden display of cruelty and murder, though Rochus could sense that the slave’s owner was furious at the loss. He supposed that he could offer to pay her the value for the slave but in his current good mood he didn’t feel like it. He flashed the furious woman a toothy smile as the body was dragged away, “that’s what happens when you try to upstage my wife. Do it again and we’ll see what you look like.”

The woman scowled and looked away and Rochus snorted and shot a warning bolt at her feet, making her jump back. “Disrespect me or my wife again and I’ll butcher every living being in your home before killing you slowly myself. No one and nothing will protect you from me. Now…apologize to me.”

“…Excuse my rudeness, Lord.”

“And..?”

The Sith scowled as she glared at Nimven, hating that she was forced to apologize to a non-Sith. “Excuse my rudeness…Ni…”

“ _Lady_ ,” he corrected.

“… _Lady_ Nimven.”

Rochus nodded his head, waving the woman away as he headed back to his table. “At least your skull isn’t as thick as your slave’s was!”

Nimven clapped her hands in pure delight, throwing her arms around Rochus’ neck as he headed back to their table. “Oh kitty! That was wonderful!” she cooed.

“That was the most exciting thing to happen this whole night,” he muttered.

“Maybe we can make it even more exciting once we get back…” she purred.

He smirked at that, his smile growing wider as she kissed him on the corner of his tattooed lips. Maybe these stupid galas were worth something after all.


	13. New Jobs

She could tell that the Human was here to kill her. Not once had he taken his eye off of her as she sat with Vette at a table in the corner, sharing a bowl of spicy noodles and broth with the younger Twi'lek. The Human wasn’t very good at hiding the fact that he was staring at her and she couldn’t help but laugh to herself, shaking her head as she drank some of the broth.

“So you think he’s contemplating coming here to buy you a drink or put a blaster round in your stomach?”

Roza looked over at the red Twi'lek, cocking an eyebrow at her as she asked, “so you noticed him too?”

“Well it’s kinda hard _not_ to notice him,” Vette laughed, reaching into the bowl to find a piece of meat to pop into her mouth. She took a moment to chew and swallow before resuming the conversation, “I mean…he hasn’t ordered anything to drink yet and I’ve seen him turning that augmented optic of his over here several times now. I mean…you do have a very nice skin color with the whole yellowish-green thing you’ve got going on, but I don’t think that’s it!”

“Thank you, Vette.”

“One of his legs is fake too so you can probably shoot some lighting at it if you needed to.”

“Very perceptive.”

“Well I don’t wanna have to deal with another assassin coming after me!” Vette protested, subtly moving the bowl closer to herself to continue eating. “You should deal with it sooner rather than later. I don’t think the Empire will be happy with us if we cause any ruckus at a cantina.”

“I suppose so,” Roza sighed, idly standing up from the table, adjusting her uniform and the way her lekku hung. “Don’t wait up for me,” she said.

“You gonna sleep with him first?” Vette teased.

“I suppose he’s cute enough but we’ll have to see how this plays out,” she chuckled. She walked over to the bar, pretending not to notice the way the Human stood up and started to follow her.

“I’ll pay for whatever the lovely lady asks for,” he told the bartender.

“Will you now?” Roza asked.

“It never hurts to be generous,” the Human said with a shrug.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t,” she agreed. She placed an order and took her drink, allowing him to pay for it. “I’m going out to get some fresh air,” she said.

“Is that an invitation?”

“It’s a statement that could potentially be an invitation if taken that way,” Roza offered, heading out of the cantina, sharing a knowing look with Vette on the way out. She smiled at the way the Human followed after her, soon walking beside her.

“My name is Bruce.”

“Lady Roza.”

“Lady?”

She laughed and shook her head, “do not act as if you don’t know that I am Sith.”

“Well I didn’t want to assume that such a lovely woman would be so powerful too,” he said.

“Flatterer.”

“I only speak the truth.”

She smiled, idly leading the Human away from the lights of the street and towards a darker part outside of the cantina, stopping once she was sure they were alone and not so easily visible. “So…who hired you?” she asked.

Bruce seemed taken aback by the sudden question, putting on an appearance of pure innocence. “Excuse me?” he asked.

She rested her hands on the hilts of her lightsabers, letting him know that she was not a Twi'lek to be trifled with. “Who hired you to kill me?” she demanded, narrowing her single eye in silent warning.

“…Was I really that obvious?” he sadly asked.

“As obvious as a Jedi on Korriban.”

He sighed sadly, shaking his head as he offered her an apologetic smile and shrug of his shoulders. “I’m sure you know that I cannot tell you that. Part of the job and all that.”

“I suppose you’re right about that.”

“So…what happens now?” he asked.

“You’re not going to fight?”

“You’re a Sith. A powerful one at that from what I was told. I’ve been found out and it would do me no good to try and fight you at this point,” he said. “I just hope that it’s not too…painful.”

“How long have you been doing this kind of work?”

Bruce shrugged, “years.”

“And what will happen if I do not kill you?”

“Then the people who hired me will instead.”

Roza sighed at this answer, removing her hands from the hilts of her weapons. “You could come with me,” she offered.

“You’re teasing me.”

“I’m offering you steady work.”

“Why would you hire me?” he asked with a frown.

“Because I like you,” she said with a warm smile. “Besides, what do you have to lose? You’re already a dead man to your employers, right?”

Bruce considered this but nodded his head, reaching out to take the Sith Marauder’s hand. “It’s a deal then.”

“Welcome aboard.”


	14. Belonging

He muttered soft curses to himself, pouting as he tried to turn one of the bolts that helped keep his false leg connected to his stump of a leg. Bruce never had a lot of money to afford a lot of the more expensive and high end cyborg implants but he did well enough with whatever scraps and things he could salvage from junkyards and cheap stores. He winced and reached up to rub the implant that served as one of his eyes, pouting to himself as he gave the metal frame a few smacks with his hand to make it stop sparking.

The former Bounty Hunter sat on the edge of the bed that he shared with the Twi'lek Darth Lord Roza. He still found it amazing that not only had the woman spared his life but she had even allowed him to come and live and work with her, knowing that he had been hired to try and dispose of her in the first place. She wasn’t like other Sith that had seen and met before and he supposed that this was because she was an Alien and not really a pure blooded Sith in the first place.

Bruce still thought about the conversation they had had today, frowning to himself as he continued to remove the bolts in his false leg, hissing as he finally took it off with a click, laying it across his lap to work on more in-depth repairs. Roza had been asking him if he found her beautiful. He had told her that of course he found her beautiful and he asked her why she was asking.

“ _I’m not slender like others who identify as female,”_

“ _So?”_

“ _My shoulders are broad…and my arms and legs are thick. I have more muscles. It makes buying things hard sometimes.” She looked down at herself then, blushing as she ran a hand over her wide hips. “I’m taller too…I tower over other Twi'lek like Vette all the time.”_

“ _That doesn’t matter. I still think you’re beautiful.”_

_She looked up at him, uncertainty on her scarred face as she asked, “do you?”_

“ _Of course I do.”_

The conversation had ended then without further mentions of it but Bruce still felt worried for her. He really did find the Sith woman beautiful and he didn’t see why she should ever have to feel uncomfortable in her own body. Bruce loved her and he wanted her to know that.

“Bruce?”

He looked up, blinking in confusion when he saw Roza standing in the doorway. He frowned to himself and started to curse under his breath, using his small wrench to start banging on his optic implant again, thinking that something was wrong with it. “Damned stupid useless piece of..!”

“Bruce?”

“Hm?”

“It’s not broken.”

Bruce looked up then, his eyebrows raised in surprise. The Twi'lek was dressed in a very revealing dancer’s outfit…at least the bottom half of a dancing girl’s outfit. Her large breasts were left completely uncovered, a golden necklace hanging around her neck. The bottoms were two long strips of black and yellow cloth, a strong golden chain resting on her hips to keep the cloth in place. She was also wearing stockings that went down to her knees, one black and one yellow to match the theme of the outfit. Flat sandals complimented the outfit.

“Roza..?”

“I couldn’t…I couldn’t find a top that would…fit,” she confessed.

“Uh…wh-why..?”

“Do I look beautiful in this?” she asked.

“You look beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said.

“But do I look beautiful in _this_ ,” she insisted. She watched as Bruce slowly nodded his head and she approached him cautiously, resting her hands on top of his shoulders. “Really?”

“Always,” he whispered, resting his hands on her hips.

“It was…difficult. Not a lot of places cater to my…body type. Do you like it?” she asked.

He offered her a sad smile, leaning forward to kiss one of her breasts, “if you like it, then I like it.”

“And you think…I am beautiful?”

He smiled, rubbing her back with his hands. “I will always find you beautiful,” he promised. “You look beautiful in this outfit.”

She smiled at his words, bending down to kiss him on the lips. “Tonight…you can be the Master…” she purred into his ear.

Bruce shuddered, gasping as he reached up, tenderly fondling her breasts, teasing her nipples into hardness. “The Master?”

“Aye, the Master.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roza and Bruce had a daughter; a red Twi'lek they named Mary after Bruce’s mother. Roza knew that she didn’t want her daughter to be Sith like she was so she waited a few years and then managed to smuggle her daughter and the daughter of Rochus’ slaves Abel and Annette to a Jedi who would take them back and let them join the Order.
> 
> Roza eventually discovered the girls when she was attacked during a mission and so she and her husband keep close eyes on them.
> 
> They told Alice about their identities, which is why she also knows.
> 
> Alice is Rochus' new apprentice, taken after he slaughtered a cave full of Force sensitive refugees. She was the only one who fought back and so he took her in.
> 
> It’s because of this that Alice makes sure her son never goes too far during their battles.

“I’LL KILL YOU, SITH SCUM!”

Jan spun around sharply when he heard the familiar shriek, smirking to himself as he leapt back and barely avoided being cut down by two slashing blue lightsabers. He snickered at the way the red Twi'lek female glared at him, holding the hilts of her weapons tightly, her eyes narrowed. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he noted, twirling his own lightsaber before turning it on.

“Filthy Sith!”

“Beautiful Jedi…” he sang, blowing her a kiss.

With a furious snarl the Twi'lek lunged at him, slashing wildly in front of him, the air becoming hot and humming from her furious swings. “Hold still!” she demanded, frowning at the way Jan seemed to dance around her blades, using his own red lightsaber to deflect blows instead of attempting to deliver any of his own. “Fight me!”

“But if I did that I would risk damaging your beautiful face, Mary! We couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Tabitha!”

Jan perked up and hissed at the Twi'lek’s sudden shout and he looked around sharply to find the trap that had been laid. Another Twi'lek woman, her skin a mixture of blue and green, had been waiting near some corrosive canisters. Upon Mary’s signal, Tabitha used the Force to pick up these canisters and hurl them straight at Jan, hurling three at different angles at him.

Quickly Jan turned and ran sideways, leaping up to press both of his feet flatly against the wall before leaping, using the Force to boost the strength of his legs, jumping over the canisters and landing dangerously close to the double bladed lightsaber wielder. “That was not very nice,” he snorted, shaking his head as he leaned forward suddenly, catching her off-guard as he pressed a kiss against the corner of her lips just as the canisters hit the wall and filled the room with their loud explosions.

He offered Tabitha a wink before quickly turning and running away from her, charging straight at Mary as the Sentinel did the same to him. “Do you think you’ll be able to get me this time?!”

“Rrr..!” Mary swung her weapons too soon, allowing Jan to drop down onto his knees and slide under them, striking her in the solar plexus with the hilt of his lightsaber to drive the air from her lungs.

He kissed her on the corner of her lips when she leaned forward, smiling as he offered her a wink. “Perhaps next time, hm?” he offered, sweeping her legs out from under her before making a break for it, leaving the two Jedi to help each other as he made his escape, leaving them confused and furious as always at his departure.

Tabitha ran over to Mary, taking her hands to pull her up onto her feet, “are you all right?”

“He got away again!” Mary hissed.

“Maybe next time…”

“Why is he always teasing us?!” Mary demanded.

Tabitha could only shrug her shoulders, looking in the direction Jan had run to, frowning to herself. “I wish I knew.”

* * *

“You fought those Twi'lek girls again,” Alice noted later that night.

“Yes, Mother.”

“And you did not leave any scars or wounds?”

“No, Mother.”

Alice gave him one of her rare smiles, nodding her head at this as she said, “good boy. You must never hurt those girls. Do you understand?”

Jan nodded his head, “I understand, Mother.”

"Make sure you tell your sister this as well."


	16. Different Interrogation Techniques

The young Sith didn’t bat an eye when his holocommunicator suddenly went off. He sighed and yawned as he pressed the button, smiling as an image of his grumpy looking grandfather appeared before him. The Human boy leaned back in his chair, running a hand through soft black hair to get it out of his blue eyes. “Hello, Grandfather. How is the Dark Council these days?”

“I have heard news that you have captured a Padawan who knows where those Republic agents are going,” Rochus sniffed.

“News travels fast, Grandfather.”

“Have you dealt with him yet?”

“Of course, Grandfather! I am not one to shirk my duties to the Empire. You insult me by even suggesting it!”

Rochus gave Jan a knowing look, narrowing his eyes every so slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest and asked, “you seduced him, didn’t you?”

“It gets the results I want without shedding blood or listening to screaming.”

“It makes people talk.”

“There are other Sith Lords and Ladies with harems, Grandfather.”

“Aye, but you manage to make these people stay with you willingly! You show weakness in front of your enemies and temporary allies by doing this, Jan! What would happen if one of your pets decided to escape and try to kill you?”

“Then I would destroy them as you have taught me, Grandfather. You know that I am strong enough to quell any rebellion that may occur but my pets love me too much to ever attempt such a thing.”

“So you think…”

“So I know.”

Rochus sighed, clicking his teeth together softly before shaking his head and getting back to the business at hand, “Jan, did he tell you what we need to know?”

Jan pressed a computer chip against the communicator, tapping on the keys briefly with a nod of his head. “I am sending you the coordinates right now. He’s one of those Padawans who never dealt with physical things before. I only had to promise him a few kisses and he told me everything.”

“I still say you should practice your lightning…”

“Lightning hurts my fingers and burns the hair on my arms, Grandfather.”

“And where is this Padawan now?”

“He’s busy at the moment, Grandfather. But don’t worry…he has been collared and has agreed to be a part of my harem,” Jan answered with a sweet smile.

“Jan…”

“Mother says that she wishes you would come and have dinner with us more often.”

Rochus’ face softened a little at this and he sighed, letting his shoulders fall a little, “perhaps in another week or two. I have been busy here asserting my role on the Council. It takes time. Send your mother my regards.”

“I will send mother your regards, Grandfather. Have fun shooting lightning at people!” he chirped, waiting for his Grandfather to disconnect before doing it himself. When this was finished he smiled to himself, reaching down between his legs to stroke the awkwardly bobbing head. “You’re a fast learner,” he purred, smiling down at the kneeling Padawan.

Lozuz had been a Mirialan Padawan before his capture by Jan. He had always been considered a nervous young man and a few members of the Jedi Council had questioned whether or not he should be allowed to attempt to become a full Jedi in the first place. He was just too…fragile with things.

Pulling back a little, Lozuz looked up at Jan with bright red eyes, pressing his green lips against his leaking erection, getting a taste for it before slowly licking up the underside, holding onto the base tightly to keep it steady. He blushed at the way Jan stroked his hair and played with his ponytail, focusing his attention on learning his way around the other’s penis without any real guidance.

“You’re a good boy,” Jan cooed down at him. “I think you’ll be one of my favorite pets.”


	17. Sith Permission

It was almost impossible for someone born into slavery to fully let go of their old life. The Zabrak Sith Rochus, her husband, was an example of this. Although he spent most of his days in control, ordering others around and even owning slaves of his own; he still looked to Nimven for permission for certain things, establishing her as the one who owned him.

The thought made her smile a little as she watched her husband interact with the Nagai known as Merou. It was clear that the two were attracted to each other, dancing around the subject like two blushing virgins. The Nagai pushed a little more to get a reaction out of Rochus, asking him out to share a bottle of wine and perhaps something more.

Rochus’ eyes flicked over to Nimven, silently asking for permission.

The gesture made her smile grow, forced to hide the expression behind her hand. Her husband was feared by so many people. He killed and tortured without a care in the world. Yet at the end of the day, he was still loyal to her and his little adopted family and them alone. She nodded her head slightly, making a shooing gesture at him. “Go on, Kitty,” she urged.

Rochus and Merou’s eyes met then and the Nagai smiled, taking the Zabrak’s hand.


	18. The Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorcan and Ashleigh are Hapans.
> 
> Lorcan belongs to me
> 
> Ashleigh belongs to my friend Hanabakemono

He caught her staring in the mirror again. He frowned to himself, tilting his head to the side as he watched the way his sister shyly ran her hands over the front of her shirt, adjusting the fabric just so, hiding some things while trying to accentuate others. She patted at her wild mane she called her hair, pursing her lips as it refused to do anything else but stick up everywhere in protest of her efforts.

Silently Lorcan crept up behind Ashleigh, springing up to hug her around her middle. “What’s my beautiful sister doing?” he asked.

“Lorcan!” she cried out, eyes growing wide as she turned to look at him. She pouted up at him. “Don’t tease me…”

“Tease you? For calling you beautiful?”

“Aye…”

“Well I’m only telling the truth,” he reminded her.

She blushed, reaching up to pat at her hair again. She was stopped when her brother caught her by the wrist, forcing her to stop. “Lorcan…”

“You’re beautiful,” he promised her. “Don’t you trust your little brother to tell the truth to you?”

“…I suppose…”

He smiled, letting go of her wrist and stepping back. “Are you all packed and ready to go?” he asked. “The shuttle heading for Republic space should be here shortly and we don’t want them to think we’re going to be keeping them up, aye?”

She considered this before nodding her head, allowing a genuine smile to cross her face. “Let’s get out of here.”


	19. Beautiful Scars

Jan watched as one of the newest members of his harem, the Hapan called Lorcan, stared at himself in a mirror. For a moment he wondered when Lorcan had become vain but he then noticed the way the other touched the scars set deep into the left side of his face, remnants from his encounter with the Cathar slavers and his attempt to protect his sister. The thought made him sad and he slowly slipped into the room, sitting down beside him. “Lorcan?”

Lorcan turned his head to look at Jan, raising an eyebrow. “Hm?” he asked.

“Did you know that you are my most beautiful member of my harem?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You taunt me.”

“I only speak the truth,” Jan countered.

“...My people are known for their looks. How can anyone see a Hapan covered in facial scars and consider them beautiful?” Lorcan asked. He blinked when Jan kissed his scars.

“I think the scars make you even more attractive. You fought to protect your sister and suffered for it. You're strong.”

Lorcan lowered his gaze, cheeks turning a dull red. “Thank you,” he whispered.

 


	20. For You

Ashleigh blinked in surprise when she saw the flower resting on the cushions she had taken as her own. Carefully she picked it up, admiring its deep purple color. She smiled a little to herself and slipped the flower behind her ear, humming as she continued on with her day.

The next time she found two flowers. “Oh...” she whispered, tilting her head to the side. She blushed a little as she considered the reasons for this and she looked over to see Jan and her brother Lorcan talking to each other. Neither seemed to be paying her any attention and she doubted that either of them would leave her the flowers.

So who...?

She decided to hide the next day to see who it was. She watched in surprise as the culprit placed three flowers on her cushions, realizing that it was Mehtar. The human set them down carefully and was about to leave when she stepped out, startling him. “It was you,” she said.

Mehtar blushed, lowering his gaze. “Lady...”

“Why didn't you just give them to me?” she asked, smiling at him. “I would have asked you to braid them into my hair for me.”

Mehtar looked up and smiled, picking the flowers up again to do so.

 


	21. Chapter 21

“Now…let’s see how you do,” Zelda murmured. She set the palm sized droid down onto the top of her desk and waited for it to activate. She smiled as the small BB unit perked up, chirping a little song as it spun in place. “Good morning,” she said. The droid looked at her, beeping in joy as it started rolling towards her. “Wait!”

The droid let out a surprised yelp as it rolled off of the edge of her desk. She caught it in the palms of her hands, laughing as she shook her head. “You have to be careful! You might hurt yourself!” With that she set the droid down and watched as a swarm of other little droids rolled over to look their new friend over, filling the workshop with their beeps and trills.

“Why don’t you show your new sibling around their new home?” she asked. She watched as most of the BBs took her suggestion, happily guiding the new droid out of the room and down the hallway. She shook her head in fondness, turning back to her desk to work on creating another.


	22. Chapter 22

“It’s really not that hard,” he said, frowning a little as he watched the other struggling.

“Lorcan, you have your leg literally behind your head!” Jan whined.

“So?”

“So?!”

The Hapan rolled his eyes and removed his leg. “How about something simple?” he offered.

Jan let out a sigh of relief, nodding his head. “Simple is something I can do!” he chirped. His face paled as Lorcan bent an arm behind and around his head instead. “LORCAN!”

“This is simple!” the redhead protested.


End file.
